


Untitled Crossover Ficlet

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gallifrey, Gen, John is Sherlock's companion, Mycroft is a Time Lord, Pre-Time War, Sherlock is a Time Lord, Time Lords, Time Lords are pompous, references to novels/audio series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock is a Time Lord, John is his companion, and Mycroft is a member of the High Council of Gallifrey who wishes his rebellious younger brother would stop following in their father’s footsteps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Crossover Ficlet

**Author's Note:**

> _And Mycroft and Sherlock are the half-human offspring of the Doctor._

** Untitled Crossover Ficlet **

Sherlock’s TARDIS suddenly lurched, and then settled on a set of co-ordinates Sherlock definitely hadn’t selected. That meant only one thing.

“Oh _no_ ,” Sherlock groaned in frustration.

“What?” John asked.

Sherlock whirled on him.

  
“I’m not here,” he said hastily. “You haven’t seen me, you don’t know where I am.”

John frowned at him.

John was an endearing enough specimen of humanity, but he wasn’t as bright as Sherlock would have liked, Sherlock had to concede.

“Sherlock, we live together. In your space-time ship. How could I not have seen you?”

“Tell him you last saw me in the xenobiology section of the library,” Sherlock ordered, “but then I disappeared into the stacks somewhere and you haven’t seen me for the last two days. Complain about the food, it’ll add authenticity.”

“I don’t even _know_ the xenobiology section of the library,” John objected. “And tell who?” he added, just as Sherlock dived behind the console.

The TARDIS doors creaked open, and in walked a man clad in the traditional attire of a Gallifreyan of high social standing. Sherlock still maintained that it was uncomfortable and restrictive. John had once said it looked ridiculous and Mycroft looked a complete twat in it.

“Dr Watson,” Mycroft said politely. “I was hoping to have a word with my brother.”

John caught himself before his eyes flickered sideways to where Sherlock was crouched behind the console.

“Haven’t seen him for a couple of days,” John said casually. “Last time I checked he was in the library somewhere, muttering to himself. If you find him, tell him the TARDIS keeps trying to feed me kippers for breakfast, and I’m running out of the cereal I bought last time we stopped by Earth.”

There was a pause.

Mycroft sighed long-sufferingly.

“Sherlock,” he said more loudly. “stop being childish. I know you’re here.”

Sherlock popped up with wires in each hand, as though he’d been enacting repairs and not hiding from his brother.

“Busy!” Sherlock shouted, and ducked down again.

Mycroft’s answering sigh was even more long-suffering than before.

“I do wish you hadn’t decided to take after Father. You’re even more intractable than he is.”

Sherlock smiled viciously.

“You didn’t really expect him to approve of President Romanadvoratrelundar’s treaty with the Daleks, did you?”

“Father has no sense of political convenience.”

“You’re been plotting with Braxiatel too often,” Sherlock accused. “Get out of my TARDIS. I’m not interested.”

“Why must you be so difficult?” complained Mycroft.

Both brothers ignored John’s mutter of ‘ _genetics, apparently_.’

“The President of the High Council of Gallifrey herself has requested your presence, Sherlock. You may even bring your human.”

“ _No_ ,” Sherlock retorted, unexpectedly venomous. “I may be partly the product of a stagnant, self-satisfied society with a superiority complex and a tendency towards megalomania, but I refuse to help them bring about their own destruction. Let them do it themselves. At least the humans have _potential_.”

“…very well,” Mycroft said finally. He looked as though he’d swallowed a lemon. “If that’s the attitude you intend to take, then I strongly suggest you talk to Father.”

“I don’t need his help!” Sherlock snapped, scowling.

“Perhaps not,” Mycroft said dryly, in a voice that indicated that he didn’t believe that at all. “Has it occurred to you that he might need _yours?_ ”

Without waiting for Sherlock’s response, Mycroft turned and sedately strolled out of the TARDIS.

(It was difficult to do otherwise, in those robes.)

Sherlock frowned for a minute at the implications of Mycroft’s cryptic statement. Then he leapt into action, pulling levers and pressing buttons.

“Sherlock?” John questioned.

“Come along, John!” Sherlock grabbed for his coat where it hung over the balustrade and put it on. “We’re going to visit my father. Brace yourself.”


End file.
